March 2019

Step One – Steal Grapes

In the fall of 2006 I found myself, even by my own admission, doing something I should not have been doing, standing in the falling rain, picking Cabernet grapes behind the St. Helena library in Napa Valley. Lets just say these were not my grapes. After hauling two large trashcans back to my garage, I made my first wine. And it was terrible. I put a picture of my dog on the label and stuck it in the back of my cellar. Ignoring the obvious question, “why did no one pick expensive St. Helena Cabernet?” I continued on.